


as well as your folly

by gladdecease



Category: NCIS
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Episode: s07e15 Jack Knife, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gladdecease/pseuds/gladdecease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And can you kneel before the king and say, "I’m clean, I’m clean"?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	as well as your folly

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/231912.html?thread=47881704#t47881704) in response to [scarlet_gryphon](http://scarlet_gryphon.livejournal.com)'s prompt: NCIS, any, _And can you kneel before the king and say, ‘I’m clean, I’m clean?’_ (White Blank Page, Mumford and Sons)
> 
> The title is taken from the same song.

Damon does his best to take care of Heatherton's family. He tells Heatherton's daughter that he was a hero, tells his wife that he died because he was a good person. He's the strong, silent figure in the background at his funeral, giving the two of them a chance to grieve without needing to worry about picking up the pieces after. He can do that.

One of Tony DiNozzo's college friends runs a short distance shipping company out of Cleveland, needs a couple drivers to do emergency runs, often late at night and at high speeds. It's not unlike what he would have been doing with Heatherton for Szwed, if on a smaller scale. It keeps him close to Heatherton's family, so he can make sure they're safe, that he's repaying his debt to the man properly.

Two years pass that way.

He gets kind of antsy towards the end of the first year. Damon hasn't had a steady job this long that didn't involve wearing Kevlar and gun holsters since he was a kid. He's not used to the calm of it all.

It doesn't help that he still has dreams - okay, call them what they are, he still has _nightmares_ \- where he's a marine again, back in the field, saving Heatherton. He wakes up panting, adrenaline rushing through him, and the urge to shoot something, or punch something, or just _hurt_ something is nearly overwhelming. He wants to get up and run, get away from this damned peace, find a place where he can fight for his life.

Looking at Heatherton's daughter helps him resist, but only just.

At the end of his second year in Cleveland, almost to the day, Heatherton's wife announces that they're moving, and she doesn't want him following them again. Apparently, he's no longer welcome. She says that Damon's become a symbol of her dead husband, a living ghost haunting her. That she wants to move on. Please, Damon, she says. You've done enough for us, and for my husband. Let us live for ourselves now.

He can't say no to that.

So she leaves, and the job that was tolerable before quickly becomes unbearable. A bad night's sleep and an accompanying nightmare leave him tense and distracted at the wheel, and he nearly crashes more than once. He gives his two weeks notice the minute he's done with the trip and starts looking for work back out east. He can't stay in Cleveland anymore, but he'd rather be somewhere familiar than not, so he looks to DC.

Damon goes through a half dozen dissatisfying job interviews before what he's really looking for in DC becomes obvious to him. He applies for a probational position at NCIS, knowing his odds are shaky. He's helped them out a couple times, but between their rough first encounter and his dishonorable discharge he worries that his recent helpfulness won't be enough.

He gets a call the day after he puts his application in. It's from Gibbs.

"You sure you know what you're asking for here?" he asks. "NCIS isn't the marines."

"No sir it's not," Damon says. "But it's the closest I'll ever get again."

"That the only reason you're applying, Damon?" Gibbs' voice is cool, careful. It's the kind of voice you hear from a superior officer just before you answer a question, where the answer they're expecting you to give is the wrong one.

"No sir," he says. "I want to... getting justice for Heatherton was one of the best things I've done since I was discharged. So was being able to tell his wife and daughter that I'd helped get his killer. I'd like to be able to do that for other marines, other soldiers unjustly killed."

Gibbs makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. "And what if the marine was the one to unjustly kill someone?"

"Then I'd get the son of a bitch and make him sorry he ever _dared_ to call himself a marine." Damon coughs. He hadn't meant for all that to come out. "Sir."

Gibbs laughs. "Alright, marine, you've almost convinced me."

"I have?"

"You did good undercover, you can follow orders, and I don't think learning how to be an investigator will be that hard for you."

Damon frowns. He hasn't known Gibbs long, but he can tell a string of compliments like that has to be leading up to something. "But...?"

"But if I'm gonna recommend you, I need to know that you're clean."

"Of course - "

"Let me finish," Gibbs says, voice low. "I need to know that you're clean now, that you've stayed clean since I last saw you. That you're never going to _not_ be clean again. What you did to yourself is a stain on your record, and that's never going to go away. But if you can swear to me now that you'll never repeat it, then I'll vouch for you with my director."

Damon swallows heavily.

"Well?"

His legs feel shaky. "I'm clean," he says. "I'm clean, I swear I'll always be clean."

He can hear the smile in Gibbs' voice. "Good."


End file.
